Young and Childish Humor

We're watching Young Frankenstein as I write this post. It's a wonderfully funny movie I first started watching back in the fall of 1975 at the Varsity Theatre on the UofM Campus. The theatre is still there, but it looks like it's live shows now, instead of films. Back in the 1970s it was a dollar theatre. Saw lots of good movies there. I didn't actually attend the University, except to go to movies and eat pizza at the Green Mill in Dinkytown. Great pizza, but always busy.

Anyway, there is the scene very early in the film where Gene Wilder, in a fit of emotional frustration, stabs his leg with a scalpal. It reminded me of something Stephen did shortly after we graduated from high school.

Stephen was an artist. Mainly, he painted with oils, and he often purchased his supplies in bulk. It was ultimately cheaper and he spent less time running to the art stores. One of the things he purchased in bulk was paint. They came in soft plastic bags, like plasma.

Stephen had recently been hired at a leather and luggage retail outlet. Life was dull there. Everyone was so serious. He decided what they needed was a bit of humor to lighten things up. So, he tied a bag of red paint to his thigh, inside his pants. Then he went to work.

While at lunch a female co-worker sat down beside him. The lunchroom was small and there was only the one table. Stephen very casually withdrew a large syringe from his lunch box. He then proceded to stab his thigh and withdraw a full supply of red liquid. The girl screamed and ran out.

Stephen was fired on the spot.

I laughed when he told me and I laugh every time I think about it. Stephen probably suspected he might get into some trouble, but I doubt he realized he would be fired. Stephen often had trouble envisioning the consequences of his humor.

Once he nearly got us both arrested as pedaphiliacs. I was driving and he was sitting with his window down, bored to death. There was this young girl sitting at the curbside. Don't know what she was doing, but she was minding her own business. Stephen sees her and tells me to slow down. Dumb old me hasn't figured out what's about to happen and so I do. As we near the poor little girl Stephen sticks his head out the window and, in his best (worst) Peter Lorre voice says, "Want to go camping?"

He thought it would be funny to scare her. She was scared. She was also bright enough to get up and run into the house. Needless to say I not only burned all othe rubber off my tires getting away from there, but Stephen had to listen to my anger for the next two hours. When I got too tired to yell at him anymore I drove us to Chris's house and told him. Chris could stay angry at Stephen much longer than I could. And he was much better at yelling.

Poor Stephen. He just couldn't understand that some things just aren't funny.

But in my book, the paint and syringe thing was funny. I wouldn't have fired him.